The World Engine

by David

Cutler’s fingers twitched and he dropped the omniphone. A modform grabbed the phone and tossed it into Cutler’s lap, from which it skittered onto the floor. Cutler didn’t move. The modform grimaced, picked up the phone again, and pressed it into Cutler’s hand. Before he could say a thing, the creature was gone.

“Why don’t you get that fixed?” the clerk asked.

Cutler rolled his eyes.

“I was on Arctuis when they started up the world engine.”

The clerk paled and put his hands up. Didn’t want to hear it? Too bad.

“When the morphogenetic wave swept through the lab I saw my colleagues, my wife, two of my three children, become parts of the machine. My daughter was incorporated in the effluent monitoring apparatus. I recognized her shoes. She was one of the lucky ones. Her mind was instantly destroyed. Dawson, the lead investigator, was still conscious three weeks later when they finally managed to shut the thing down. By that time nearly two thirds of the planetary mass had been converted to living tissue, but no breathable atmosphere had been created. The air supply to the lab was intact. Dawson pleaded with me to break the seal and release him, but I could do nothing.”

The clerk interrupted, though he looked like he was about to lose his lunch. “I thought he couldn’t talk. That his mouth was…”

“He blinked his eyes,” Cutler snapped. “He used Morse code, we all had to learn it back in those days.”

“So what happened to you? You survived. Why not have your body rebuilt, or replaced?”

“Can’t. Why? Who the hell knows? No one could figure out why the half of me they found was still alive, 20 days after the planet went crazy. So I’m the only guy in a powerchair in the freaking hundred planets. I’m the only guy they can’t regenerate or even graft prosthetics to. I’m the only guy who doesn’t respond to rejuvenation or life extension treatment. Some guys have all the luck, eh?”

“But the world-f*ck,” the clerk whispered, “that was at least 80 standard years ago. How old were you when it happened? You look … young.”

“Yeah, well, what happened to me, it ain’t all bad. I read minds too.” The clerk’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

“Joking!”

Kid needed to get a grip. He’d even believed that Morse-code crap.

The end

Attention Whores

by Ken Brady

Roddy looks up and there she is: an image of perfection in a blue sequined party dress, body stacked and toned to porn star perfection, auged tits pushed up and bathed in disco ball light, lip LEDs and corneal lasers flashing a come hither look that would lead most any man around by the cock and make him denounce family, friends, and god of choice for a fifteen minute pleasure romp between her legs.

So, really, Roddy can’t help but look.

But when you’re flat broke and trying to find your missing daughter, the last place you want to be is a dance club. The last thing you want to do is walk up to the most expensive girl in the room and stare. The last mistake you want to make is getting caught stealing glances you can’t afford. There are lots of lasts to avoid when you’re hanging on by your fingernails.

She knows he’s looking and flashes a diamond smile. Roddy’s cash meter dips in response. Gone are the days of you can look but you can’t touch. Now it’s you can look if you have cash and you can touch if you’ve got the credit.

His gaze lingers on her chest long enough for him to get special attention from her augs. She grows another half a cup size and bounces a little for effect. As she debits Roddy’s account again, it drops dangerously low. He looks away, but too late. She moves closer to him.

“Hey,” she says.

He looks down, but is distracted by a line of cute pink arrows that dance playfully up her bare legs, moving toward the hem of her dress. Everything about this girl screams “Look at me!”

He closes his eyes before she can suck him dry. Remember what you’re here for, he thinks.

“I’m looking for someone,” he says.

“A girl?” she asks. “Is she hot like me?”

“No,” he says. “She’s a natural.”

The silence in the room is immediate and complete. He opens his eyes to see everyone looking at him like he had screamed fuck! in church.

“A natural?” She whispers it.

“My daughter.”

He shows her an old printed photo.

“Oh.” She points to the VIP room.

Some stares and glares, then he eyes some cash at the bouncer who opens the VIP door. Barely enough left to get a taxi home.

His daughter sits in a comfy chair, surrounded by men. Even Roddy has to admit there’s nothing physically special about her. But she has no augs. She’s a natural. And they can’t take their eyes off her.

“Daddy!” she says, and holds out her hand.

“Hi, honey,” he says. He reaches down to touch her hand but the bouncer stops him.

“You have any idea how squeaky clean your credit has to be to touch this girl?” he asks.

Roddy gives him his best steely look. “I do. She’s worth it.”

He reaches for the outstretched hand and takes it, gently pulling her to her feet. She wraps her arms around him. Augs and cash and credit and instant gratification were well and good, but they weren’t flesh and blood.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

As they walk out the door Roddy’s accounts hit zero but he feels like a million bucks.